The pain of a God
by Titanic-fanatic
Summary: Okay I wrote this in like half a hour just now so yeah just in one of those 'i feel poetic moods! anyway - set after journey's end. How the Doctor expresses his feelings of loss, anger, regret etc. Very dark. Hint at Rose. PLEASE READ.


**The pain of a God**

_**Most men ebb and flow in wretchedness between the fear of death and the hardship of life; they are unwilling to live, and yet they do not know how to die - **__**Lucius Annaeus Seneca, **__**4 BC –AD 65.**_

The Doctor stood silently, watching a crimson sky burn with all the fire, hatred and pain that coursed through his veins. The anguish he was feeling at this point in time curdled his blood, deepening his breath as he remained static. That sky only rekindled the memory of what he'd lost, further stoking the fire of his frustration. He watched, a statue, as the sun began to sink. Sink into darkness. Slip into the red ocean that impassively swallowed his anger, engulfing that sun to cast that blanket of black over the endless sky. He continued to glare outwards, his fists were clenched tight as air whipped at his body, curling and twisting around his neck, giving a ghostly life to his thick brown hair. The wind was cold. It burned his once wet cheeks, freezing the tears that teamed from his smouldering seldom stare. The Time lord mimicked the flurries of air, inhaling through his gritted teeth and exhaling with equal passion.

His long over coat fluttered in the gale, a lone banner of what once was, flapping on a lonely cliff-top. He felt dead, yet his hearts continued to pulsate. His body was cold, his skin ice and his eyes doomed with divinity as they told a story of his infinity. The Doctor could feel his mind being flooded with emotion, so much so that he felt he was drowning in that liquid abyss that expanded to the horizon. The memory. The sheer memory made oxygen inflate his lungs yet feel short of breath. Nothing made sense anymore. His toes rapped within his trainers, pressing into the grass beneath. The Earth was moving, still turning, never stopping, never relenting, like him.

The Doctor dubiously thought about the recent events he had witnessed, a fresh tear labelled him a broken soul. There was no point in going on, he felt no purpose in the hollow holes that were encapsulating his hearts. He could throw himself off the edge, soar through that bitter sweet sky and feel nothing as he crashed into the now turbulent sea that lashed out at the jagged rocks, slicing them with white strikes of fury. He took a step forward, his heels anchoring him to the land of the living as he continued to stare, he saw no stars in his eyes, he saw no future, he saw nothing but grey, grey and charcoal clouds looming omnisciently above.

A crack of lightening encouraged him to lift a leg. The water swirled, beckoning him closer but he stopped. Even if he let the embrace of salty water send him to sleep or the arms of daggered rocks attain his ambiguous demise it would not end. The golden gift of his people would give the Doctor new life, a new face. He could not say no, he was not strong enough to argue, especially not now. The wind jostled his body backward, away from the edge.

His promiscuous eyes were dull and turbulent _"She would say just the right thing now"_ his voice echoed through his mind. The tears began to burn and scar his gaunt face, cutting with a searing pain that would manifest in the rocks below if he were to take another step. The Time lord raised his arms, screaming as the thunder rumbled, the earth seemingly shaking in his wake. His emotions spent into the dense air, his fingers spread out and head flung back. His chest racking with sobs. His body was whipped again now by wild wailing rain, he was emotionally numb and didn't care about the pain he felt searing through to his core, it was nothing to the scars that scored his hearts. Streaks of light scattered the sky as the ocean echoed his roars. It was useless to deny his thoughts - there was no escape. They always won - he always lost, he was never going to see her again - he was never going to die and he was bound to his legend.

He was the wanderer, the man without a home, the lonely god.


End file.
